


what sort of devil is he?

by LightningInABottle



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, Javert's Suicide, Les Misérables AU, Les Misérables References, Lovers To Enemies, M/M, POV Second Person, Suicide, anathema is crowley’s child
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-09-27 04:00:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20401324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LightningInABottle/pseuds/LightningInABottle
Summary: It all started in the Garden of Eden the very moment they met, albeit accidentally on Crowley’s part.After four thousand years of imprisonment, Crowley escapes at last and begins a new life—but the Principality Aziraphale unknowingly follows his every step, desperate in his obsession to capture the Serpent of Eden for his crimes.Enemies become something more, and not everything is as it seems.





	what sort of devil is he?

**Author's Note:**

> I can’t believe I wrote a les mis au for good omens. I hope you enjoy it nonetheless!
> 
> (Trigger warning for suicide)

You are the Demon Crawly, Serpent of Eden, Tempter of Mankind, but you’re thinking of changing it.  _ Crawly,  _ you think,  _ just isn’t me.  _

You’re brought before Heaven and all of its Hosts, the first time you’ve been there since the initial Saunter that started this whole thing. An angel with cold blue eyes and a sword that burns without warmth yanks you up from the Garden right before the world’s first rain. A bit disappointing; you would’ve liked to see it. In any case, you did your job. Knowledge, free will, the whole shebang. Now it’s the consequences that matter.

And judging by the glare of millions of eyes on you, you’re starting to feel just a tad bit nervous. 

There isn’t a trial, but then again, there wasn’t one before. There’s only the sentencing. “For your crimes against humanity,” the Principality that captured you says. “You are condemned as Heaven’s prisoner for an indefinite amount of time.” Up here, indefinite could mean anything from a fraction of a second to thousands of years. Trapped in the blank white nothingness of the place that threw you out when you refused to hold your tongue.

You end up waiting four thousand. 

By then, Christ has lived and died, humanity has used its knowledge for good and for evil, and you can’t wait any longer. The angel that stands guard over you is the same one you met in the Garden. You know three things about him. Number one: he is a Principality. Number two: his name is Aziraphale. Number three: he despises you. 

You can’t understand why, at first. Can’t see what’s so bad about knowing the difference in the first place. But as time passes, like liquid metal or the brush of a cloud, you start to hate it. Maybe you should’ve left the blessed creatures alone, let them meander through their precious paradise.

But then you catch a glimpse of the world through your chains and you feel pride. None of this would’ve happened if not for you. And when those clouds part just enough, and Aziraphale turns away just for a moment too long, you run and you jump and you Fall, right down to Earth.

And then you’re free. 

You look at the world you’ve landed in and you make a decision.  _ Another story must begin. _

* * *

The next time you meet him, you are now Archangel Raphael, the benevolent being who never shows his wings yet is nothing short of holy. You rather like it, this position you found yourself in, to help lead humanity in choice instead of blind worship. A thousand years spent as the patron angel of medicine and other healing things. 

But then an angel, on assignment from Heaven, appears and you can’t quite find the strength to breathe. He looks rather the same, with the removed gaze and purposeful stride that drew you to him in the Garden. But now, there is not even a hint of contempt in his eyes as he drops into a bow before you.

“ _ Archangel Raphael,  _ I am at your service.”

You’re not used to temptation finding you instead of the other way around. Does he truly not recognize his prisoner from all those years ago? Instead, he is in awe, looking up at you in wonder. He doesn’t ask to see your wings, nor does he look past your curls to see the snake mark next to your ear. Instead, he lets you command him, direct him where to go in order to discover the lawbreakers and demons.

He never finds any, curiously enough.

But he does find a friendship, quiet moments stolen together. At first, he insists it’s improper, such closeness with an Archangel. You’re about to agree. But then that little selfish curl of temptation finds our heart and you insist that he stay for dinner neither of you need and drinks neither of you are supposed to have.

“Aziraphale…” you say, one afternoon, trying the name out on your tongue. It’s the first time the word isn’t preceded by the title. You like it, like saying it. It’s as intoxicating on the wine that lingers on your tongue even though the glass has been set down long ago.

“Yes, Archangel?”

You laugh. The irony is painfully bitter. “Raphael, if you please.”

“Ar—Raphael. What is it?”

A sharp inhale on your behalf. This deception already churns a cool, metallic weight in your gut. Any further lies would be salt in the wound. And yet it is impossible to hold back. “If there is anything that makes you uncomfortable, you may excuse yourself at any time.”

Aziraphale inclines his head. He had never looked as beautiful as he does now, no divine wrath, no divide separating them. Only an angel and his technical superior, having drinks on Earth. And every bit of it is a lie. “Of course, Raphael. Where is all this coming from?”

You rise, going towards the large window overlooking your city. The people rely on you. If your secret is revealed, everything will be under suspicion. Aziraphale follows you. “Nothing. I simply needed to ssssoothe my conscience.” You never hiss. Sibilants have long since left your speech. But the slightest one slips out, just enough for a suspicious look to be directed your way.

“You remind me of someone,” says Aziraphale. “A man I once knew. A prisoner of Heaven, who I delivered myself.” His eyes slide to meet yours. “He disappeared.”

You raise an eyebrow, heart pounding like a frantic drum trying to catch up. “Well, say what you must, don’t leave it there.”

Aziraphale backs off. “Forgive me, I meant no offense.” A breath later, he continues. “Yours is not a face I would forget.”

You beam, as charmed as you are disgusted. With yourself, with this lie you have woven based on appearance alone. With what you want and how you can’t have it. But you’ve never been good at denying, either yourself or someone else. Eve had always wanted the apple, and what’s radiating from Aziraphale is unmistakable to demonic senses.

You step forward. “This is where what we discussed earlier comes into play. You understand me, Aziraphale?”

He nods again, painfully white wings unfurling. “I do, Raphael. As I said, I am completely loyal to you.” 

You take his chin, very gentle, and direct him to look at you. A smile curls at your lips. “Good.” 

The window is obscured by white feathers when you kiss him.

* * *

Wickedness always contains the seeds of its own destruction. Aziraphale taunted you with that phrase when you were Crawly, and you hear it now, echoing in your ears like the hum of a cave. You have no choice. You must confess. It is better than letting an innocent man be killed under suspicion of being the Serpent.

Now, you stand over the body of a human woman, blinking away tears. Just another casualty that you caused, unwittingly. She has a child, one that you can save. But it’s too late, because your time is up and Heaven has come for you. But the figure standing in the hospital doorway is the worst one they could’ve sent.

You meet the eyes of your lover, your friend, your enemy. And they are cold, so cold that it chills you to the bone. No longer do they have the hint of fondness you managed to cultivate as an angel. He draws his flaming sword and your heart sinks.

“At last, we see each other plain.” He scoffs, and the sound pierces your heart. “I should’ve known.”

“Just three days, angel, please.” You risk a glance towards the woman, thinking of her child, still suffering “This is a duty I’m sworn to do.”

“_No!” _He swings the sword and you jump away. “You _tricked _me and deceived me..._seduced _me_._” He trips over the last word, as if it’s something he can barely comprehend.

“It was a moment of weakness,” you protest. Many moments, all where you couldn’t hold back and just wanted to take every single second you could. “I’m sorry.” The defense only makes Aziraphale madder. 

“You know nothing,  _ demon _ ,” he spits out, backing you into a corner. “You have no rights. Come with me now, Crawly, and answer for your foul crimes.”

There’s nowhere to go. You pray to a God that despises you as surely as the angel before you that you can make it out alive. 

And you vanish in a puff of smoke. 

* * *

The girl is easy enough to find and to rescue, and she knows you as Anthony J. Crowley, or Papa. As does everyone in the city you’ve moved to. 

If you could pass yourself off as an Archangel, than humanity shouldn’t be too difficult. And it isn’t. Years pass, the girl grows up. Her name is Anathema and she is the only good thing in the third life you’ve built for yourself. The rebellion continues to build and simmer and you worry that one day, that which you fear will find you.

You see him in the marketplace, unchanging as ever, and you flee. He catches your eyes once, and even despite the short hair, the powder covering your mark, he recognizes you. So right before the revolution, you instruct Anathema to pack her bags. Another year, another life, another time spent pretending that you are someone else. This is your penance. A long time ago, Aziraphale might have stopped hunting you. But you made it personal.

He will not rest. He will not falter until he finds you again. The grip of terror is enough to keep you moving.

And then the letter arrives, curiously enough. Addressed to not him, but to Anathema. A boy, someone coming to steal her away. But he is at the barricades, and you know that he will die. But then again, they all will. There is only you and Aziraphale and the eternal game you have set up. 

You set off to find the boy whose name is Newt. 

And you see the Principality. Captive by the humans.

_ Of course,  _ you think.  _ If I can disguise myself, why couldn’t he?  _

You hold the hellfire-forged knife to his throat and then slice down to cut his ropes. Free to go. “No consequences, no catch,” you say, turning away. You cannot bear to look at him right now. Too many memories. “Just leave this place.”

He scrambles away with the strangest look on his face, but before either of you can speak, there’s a gunshot and the boy Anathema loves collapses back, the bullet piercing his shoulder. Blood spurts, and then dribbles, and you know he will die.

What will Anathema say, so young for the secrets that surround her? Her only hope at happiness, gone. You know what you have to do.

* * *

You save him, how could you not? 

But when you drag yourself up out of the sewer, miraculously clean and with an unconscious boy in your arms, Aziraphale is there, with a small smile on his face. 

“Never forget, you still answer to me,” he says. “You made it so that every human is born of sin, so that  _ I  _ sinned, so that I had no choice but to pursue you.”

You hang your head. There is no way out of this. He approaches, calm. His eyes are still cold. 

And then he lets you go.

There is a fever in him now, not quite warm, yet not the freezing glare from before. You like to think it’s hope as you slip away into the night.

* * *

* * *

You are Principality Aziraphale, Guardian of the Eastern Gate, Bearer of Justice, and you have never, not once considered changing. 

Not since what happened in the Garden. 

You stand on the parapet of a bridge, and below you burns the barricade, hellfire crackling through the street. All the humans there should be dead, save for the one rescued by the demon. His name is Crowley now, apparently, and when you see a black bird flying by, you can’t help but think of him.

First, the demon that tempted you. Gave you the apple, murmured that just one bite wouldn’t hurt. So you took it as you bit and you saw the difference between Good and Evil. And you hated it. How could you ever be truly loyal when you would always be plagued with doubt? By eradicating the very thing that tempted you.

But then there was Archangel Raphael, who was kind and holy and good. That was a lie, a charming facade made to lull you into a false sense of security. And now there was Anthony J. Crowley, who you had hunted for years, who had let you go when he had the power to wipe out the past and vanish forever.

So why hadn’t he taken the chance? What sort of devil was he, to trap you and then spare your life? 

The difference between Good and Evil pounds at your temples like an angry guest waiting to be let in. You take a deep breath and make a decision.  _ There is no way to go on.  _

And then you step off the parapet and into the hellfire.

* * *

Somewhere, across the city, Demon Crawly, Archangel Raphael, and Anthony J. Crowley feels something  _ change.  _

And when he opens his eyes, the world is as cold and empty as Aziraphale’s gaze when they first met, in the Garden.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh man....valvert was like my first ever ship so it’s something else to write it through a good omens lens. I really hope you enjoyed reading this, and I’m pretty much fueled by validation so please leave a comment telling me what you thought!!  
Thank you for reading!


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